


Room 27

by RubyIntyale



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Awkward Boners, Feelings, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Secret Crush, Sharing a Bed, one bed trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyIntyale/pseuds/RubyIntyale
Summary: Armie sighed heavily, “Tim, for the last time, you are not sleeping on the floor.”“But I don’t”“I know you don’t mind, but it’s not your fault they fucked up our reservation.”There's only one bed, guys. Oh no.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 54
Kudos: 303





	Room 27

**Author's Note:**

> It probably shouldn't have taken me so long to write less than 3k words, but, you know, I'm not very good.  
Entirely fiction. I don't know A&T and this is just MY fantasy. No badness is intended.  
Thank you for reading x

**Monday**

“See, king size. I told Brian it wouldn’t be a big deal.” 

Armie set his suitcase down in the corner. He flicked on the rest of the lightswitches, taking in his surroundings with an appreciative nod. 

Timmy stumbled in behind him, nearly falling as his overstuffed duffle caught on the carpet, “The lady at the front desk said they had spare duvets. I could probably camp on the floor for a couple days.”

Armie sighed heavily, “Tim, for the last time, you are  _ not  _ sleeping on the floor.”

“But I don’t”

“I know you don’t mind, but it’s not  _ your  _ fault they fucked up our reservation.”

Timmy picked at a bit of lint on his hoodie, “I thought Brian was gonna fold himself into another dimension.” There was a smirk in his voice that he knew Armie couldn’t help but respond to.

“Never has a stare been so  _ pointed _ ,” Armie’s lip twitched.

“Surprised she didn’t burst into flames.”

They looked at each other for a brief moment before completely cracking up. Armie clapped Timmy’s shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze before walking over to the mini bar. 

“Anything good?” Timmy sat down on the bed with a little bounce, wrestled with the pink sneaker clinging stubbornly to his foot. 

“Would you like an eight dollar KitKat?”

Timmy shook his head.

“Then no. Let’s just put our PJs on. I’m kinda tired after the flight.”

“Um,” Timmy cleared his throat, “I don’t um, I don’t. See, I don’t usually wear PJs, so…” he trailed off, looking up at Armie with a sheepish blush.

Armie shrugged, “So sleep in your t shirt. And your boxers,” he said quickly, coughed and added, “obviously.”

“Don’t have those either.”

“Underwear?!” 

“T shirts,” Timmy clarified. The tips of his ears had turned pink. “I only brought stuff to wear to the interviews.”

“Oh,” Armie visibly relaxed, “well that’s no problem, you can borrow one of mine.”

Timmy stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Armie’s t shirt was far too big. It hung down past his ass and gaped at the neck. Collarbone, shoulder, left nipple. Whichever way he arranged it, he was showing a lot of skin. He shuffled from the bathroom to the bed, holding the shirt down at the front to cover as much of his crotch as possible. 

Armie rolled his eyes, “Tim, I’ve seen you wearing far less than that. Just relax, would ya?”

Timmy didn’t look at him, didn’t look at the way his snug black boxers clung in all the right places as he sprawled on top of the covers, didn’t look at the soft line of hair just visible above the waistband. He demurely arranged the duvet over himself as he climbed into bed.

Seeing Tim’s unease, Armie’s voice turned soft, comforting, “Hey, I’m sorry. Do you want  _ me  _ to sleep on the floor?” 

Timmy gave him a weak smile, “No, it’s OK. Let’s just get some rest.”

They fell asleep on opposite sides, a respectful amount of bed between them.

**Tuesday**

Timmy woke up warm. He frowned, licking his dry lips. He could feel something on his face. He tried to turn away from it, but the bedding was much heavier than he had remembered.  _ Huh? _

Armie. Or, more specifically, Armie’s chin, prickly from two long days of travelling. He was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling with slow, gentle breaths. They were facing each other, which was definitely  _ not  _ how they had ended things last night. Timmy blinked the grit out of his eyes. Armie’s arms were around him, holding him close against his body. He had been cuddling Armie too, if his dead arm was any indication. He let out a nervous, embarrassed laugh and tried to wriggle away, but Armie held on tighter, making sleepy noises of protest and snuggling further into him. 

“Armie!” Timmy whisper-hissed, gently shoving his shoulder, “It’s me!”

“Wha?” Armie opened his eyes, groggy, disorientated.

“Let me up. I need to pee.”

Armie rolled away from him with a groan, turning onto his other side. Timmy stared at the smooth curve of his back until his alarm went off. His lips were still too dry. 

He was half way through a meatball sub when he realised he and Armie didn’t usually sit  _ this  _ close. Shoulders, knees and feet, pressed together on the flimsy plastic bench. Armie was wolfing down his sandwich like a dying man, laughing at something their editor had said. He caught Timmy in his peripheral vision and flashed him a grin.

“Good?” He nodded to the sub.

Timmy blinked at it, “Er, yeah. Yours?”

“Fucking delicious,” Armie dabbed his mouth with a napkin, “wanna bite?”

“What? No!” 

Armie shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

Timmy’s face felt hot. He finished his food in silence, head down, curls hiding his blush. 

It was hard to ignore the fact that Armie was a very attractive man. He was also funny and kind and talented as fuck. And married. With kids. Timmy had worked very hard to keep those last two at the front of his mind, especially when things got weird between them. The thing was, Armie was never, ever phased by the weirdness. A lingering hug would tie Timmy in knots for days, whereas Armie just breezed through their relationship, smiling like it was the most natural thing ever. Timmy supposed it was easy to look comfortable when you  _ were  _ comfortable, and not second guessing every shoulder squeeze, every finger tap, every brush of skin on skin. 

Their afternoon interviews went well. Armie told the rehearsal story again with his usual aplomb, and Timmy chipped in at key moments. Big laughs. Was their summer as good as Elio and Oliver’s? No, it was better. “This one didn’t end in heartbreak,” Timmy told the interviewer, beaming at Armie like he hung the moon. Armie leaned his head on his shoulder with a smile. Click. Perfect. They went out for dinner. Timmy ate his body weight in udon noodles and Armie bitched that the Singapore vermicelli wasn’t spicy enough. It was nice. It was fun, and Timmy forgot all about his weird mood until they were back at the hotel. 

Hot steam followed Armie out of the bathroom as he walked over to the foot of the bed, rubbing his hair with a too small towel, “Hey.”

Timmy looked up from his phone.

“I’m really sorry about this morning. I didn’t wanna mention it in front of Brian and all those guys, but you seemed really uncomfortable today and I know it’s my fault.”

“No, it’s…”

Armie held up his hand, “Honestly, it’s OK that you’re pissed at me. Liz is the only person I’ve shared with in like, the last ten years, so I musta got carried away,” he laughed nervously, “I’m sorry though. Won’t happen again.”

Timmy smiled shyly, “Actually it was kinda nice. I’m usually alone, so…” he trailed off, lip caught between his teeth.

Armie settled on the bed, his hand a reassuring presence on Timmy’s knee.

“I’ve been getting pretty homesick,” Timmy blurted, unable to stop the flow now that it had started. “It feels like every week it’s a new city, and a new bed that isn’t mine, and all those empty hotel rooms, they just kinda  _ get  _ to you, you know?”

Armie nodded.

“And I know you’re with me, and we’re literally talking to people all day long, but it still feels lonely, sometimes. So I’m glad that they fucked up our rooms. I’m glad that you’re here with me.”

When he dared to look up, Armie was smiling softly. 

“TV? Movie?”

Timmy smiled back, “Sure.”

“You pick. I need to brush my teeth.”

Timmy grabbed the remote, flicking through the channels, “Hey Armie,  _ Cars  _ is on!”

“Ugh,” Armie groaned from the bathroom, “don’t fucking pay for it. I’ll never live it down if  _ that  _ shows up on the bill.”

“I’m not! It’s on a regular channel.”

“Can’t you find something else?”

“You said I could pick,” Timmy pouted, “besides, I wanna watch you be a cute car.”

Armie flopped onto the bed next to him, hand raised towards the TV, “He doesn’t even look like me.”

“He kinda does,” Timmy tilted his head, “he’s all blue and shiny, and plus, he has a porn star’s name, too.”

Armie whacked him with a pillow.

**Wednesday**

“Fuck,” Timmy looked down at himself. Early morning sunlight was just starting to creep under the curtains. His boxers were sticky at the front. Armie was pressed against his back this time, his slow, even breaths tickling the nape of Timmy’s neck. His hand was heavy on Timmy’s stomach. Possessive. Comforting. Timmy tried to turn, but the movement brushed his erection against the sheets, making him gasp at the friction. He carefully slid out from under Armie’s arm, crept into the bathroom and turned the lock all the way around, breathing heavily. 

The shower water felt amazing on his dick. He leaned into the spray, eyes closed, hands wandering, imagination wandering further.

No. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t touch himself in their  _ shared  _ shower. Timmy grabbed the bottle of shampoo and vigorously washed his hair, ignoring his cock as it twitched and throbbed between his legs.

Cold water didn’t help either. He took hold of himself with a defeated sigh, turning the dial until the shower was nice and warm again. 

“You look wrecked.”

Timmy shrugged, tried to look like he hadn’t just rubbed one out to visions of his closest friend and mentor, “Maybe I’m getting sick.”

Armie’s brow creased it concern, “Did you sleep? I didn’t keep you up, did I?”

Heat bloomed on Timmy’s cheeks. He’d been  _ up  _ for hours, judging by the state of his underwear. He shook his head.

“You’ll tell me, if it gets worse?”

Timmy nodded.

“OK.”

Armie disappeared into the bathroom. Timmy let out a long breath, shoulders slumping. He’d definitely cleaned up in there. Armie would never know. It was fine. He’d be fine now.

“So, Armie, how are you finding our cosy little town?”

Timmy scowled. Who the fuck was  _ this  _ asshole? Didn’t  _ Empire  _ have better people? The journalist (Max. He had introduced himself as Max, Timmy remembered but didn’t care) leant across the table, effectively blocking Timmy with his elbow and directing all of his attention towards Armie. The pub was packed and sweaty. Timmy could hardly hear himself think.

Armie smiled, forever gracious, “I love it here, Max. I wish we could stay longer.”

Max beamed, “There’s always something new in London, isn’t there? So fresh and exciting, unlike some,” he coughed, “ _ American _ cities of note.”

Timmy scoffed into his Kopparberg. Max wrinkled his nose.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” Armie barely hid his smirk, “How London can be both so  _ cosy  _ and so fresh and exciting,” he nudged Timmy’s foot under the table. 

Max’s smile was beyond simpering. He gestured to Armie’s empty glass, “Another?”

“Please.”

Max didn’t bother asking Timmy what he wanted. Timmy rounded on Armie. “Well.”

Armie raised his eyebrows.

“He’s a little...Intense.”

“Hmmm.”

“I feel like I’m intruding.”

Armie laughed. He slung an arm around Timmy’s shoulders, pulling him snugly into his side. Timmy melted into the contact, deliberately not moving when Max came back with two full pint glasses. His face fell as he took in the scene before him. Timmy slipped his arm around Armie’s waist, under his jacket. Smug.

The ‘interview’ was over pretty quickly after that. Max scribbled a few notes in his Star Wars Moleskine and left with his pint half finished. Timmy gave him a little wave as he pushed through the crowd.

“Nice guy.”

Armie rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“You were practically marking your territory, T.”

Timmy looked away, “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be. You want me all to yourself. I get it.”

“Fuck off,” Timmy giggled as he shoved him.

Armie downed his pint, smacked his lips, “More alcohol?”

“More alcohol.”

They stumbled back into the room far later (or technically, earlier) than was sensible. Timmy apologised to some coat hangers while he groped around for the light. 

Armie, who was a damn sight more sober, toed out of his shoes and slowly started to unbuckle his belt. “Do you mind if I skip the shirt tonight? It’s kinda hot, being in bed with you.”

Timmy choked on a burst of embarrassed giggles, curls bouncing wildly as he shushed himself. 

“Alright,” Armie rolled his eyes, but his smile was good natured, “bedtime, you child.”

Timmy stuck his tongue out at him. He wriggled out of his clothes and into Armie’s t shirt, diving under the covers with a screech of “I won!”

“Yes, Timothee,” Armie climbed in next to him, “you got into the bed first. Nice job.”

Timmy immediately snuggled up, throwing his arm and leg over Armie’s torso, all nuzzles and soft smiles.

“Oh,” Armie looked down at him, “hello.”

“Hi.”

“Starting early tonight?” 

Timmy shrugged, “We’re just gonna end up like this anyway.”

Armie laughed quietly, “Yeah, I guess we are.”

“Mmmm,” Timmy closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, “You’re so cuddly, Ollie.”

“Oh! Oh I see,” Armie pretended to pull away, “is that how it is?” He poked Timmy’s ribs, “What’s he got that I don’t?”

“The shortest shorts in all the world,” Timmy sighed happily, “and he kisses me.”

A stillness settled over the room, their shared breathing the only sound in the darkness.

“Tim?” Armie’s voice was so close. His mouth was so close. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

Timmy tilted his head up. Armie’s lips brushed his own, soft, chaste. Another. A press this time, Timmy’s lip slightly caught between both of Armie’s. Another. Timmy stroked Armie’s chest, stroked his stomach, stroked lower.

Strong fingers closed around his wrist, guiding his hand back up to where it had started. Message received. 

**Thursday**

Timmy woke up sprawled across Armie’s body, his chest hair tickling his nose. He lurched upright, cringing at the sudden flash of pain across his temples.  _ What the… _

Armie was flat on his back, spark out as usual. Timmy’s eyes traversed the length of him. Hard nipples. No shirt. He bit back a moan. Armie hadn’t fastened himself up properly, or the button had popped open in the night, or, or something else had happened, but his erection was now poking through the slit in his boxers, plump and flushed and  _ glistening _ .

Timmy licked his lips. He could taste him. Just a little. Just a kiss, or a flick of his tongue. He could suckle on the tip, maybe. Tease until he woke up. What then? A moan, a push of hips, strong fingers carding through his hair? Would Armie make him finish that way, or would they fuck? Quick and dirty before their next round of interviews. 

Armie grumbled in his sleep and rolled over. Timmy’s heart slammed against his ribs. He’d considered it.  _ Seriously  _ considered it. Armie was his friend and he was trying to…

His stomach churned violently. He only just made it to the bathroom before he was bent double, heaving into the toilet. 

“Tim?” Armie appeared in the doorway, anxious, his voice gravelly with sleep.

Timmy threw up again, his nails digging into the cheap plastic seat as he held his head out of the bowl.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t think you’d had  _ that  _ much,” Armie crouched down next to him, his large hand warm and reassuring as he rubbed his back.

“‘M sorry,” Timmy mumbled. 

“Hey, ssshh, it’s OK. I’m here.”

Timmy pulled the flush. Armie’s hand lingered.

The whole day was miserable. Timmy nodded and hmmed his way through the press, keeping his sunglasses on between interviews. Every time he moved he felt queasy. Armie became more attentive than ever, fetching him water and snacks, asking if he needed any aspirin, even lending Timmy his jacket when he started shivering. He did all of it with so much affection that Timmy wanted to cry, wanted to confess what a dirty, perverse sack of shit he was so that Armie would hit him or yell or do  _ something  _ to punish him. 

He declined a dinner invitation and went back to the room alone. Armie had left his watch on the bedside table. Timmy picked it up and held it, testing its weight, running his thumb over the dials around the face. It slid straight off his own wrist, landing on the mattress with a metallic clunk.

He feigned sleep when Armie got back, curled up on his side with the covers tucked under his chin. 

**Friday**

Another city. Another hotel. Two double rooms booked. Yes sir, right this way. Disappointment? No, Armie was probably just tired. Timmy had heard him turning in the night, sighing as he checked the time on his phone. 

He sat on the bed, staring at nothing. 

A knock on the door. 

Armie. Always Armie. Soft and gorgeous and just a little bit pleading. 

“I thought you might want to borrow this,” he held up a salmon pink t shirt, “in case you get cold.”

Timmy pressed him into the door, wound his fingers through his hair, “Can you be the one wearing it?” He tugged Armie down to meet his kiss, “In case I get cold?”

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
